


I'm From Out of Town

by Shatterflowerdemon



Series: Reader inserts [19]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Asgore dies offscreen, Asgore was overthrown, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Character Death, F/M, Flirty Grillby, Gender-neutral Reader, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's minor, King Papyrus (Undertale), M/M, Mutual Pining, No pronouns used for Reader, Pacifist Frisk (Undertale), Papyrus knows about the timelines, Possessive Sans (Undertale), Reader has a purple Soul, Reader is not a game protag, Reader-Insert, Sans (Undertale) Remembers Resets, Self-Aware Papyrus, The Author Regrets Nothing, Timeline Shenanigans, Underfell Asgore Dreemurr, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), no beta we die like warriors, perseverance soul, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 11:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterflowerdemon/pseuds/Shatterflowerdemon
Summary: The world stops. Your focus lasers in on the face- no, skull- of the being before you. It's a single-minded and blissfully silent focus. Then, recognition slaps you in the face.(You know this skeleton)"I see you have awoken."
Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Series: Reader inserts [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042395
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	I'm From Out of Town

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot to keep my feet wet in between chapter updates. I used a prompt from write-it-motherfuckers on Tumblr (check them out, please!)
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://shatterflowerdemon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I take requests, asks and post Undertale content!

"What?" Your eyes are wide, and you feel clammy. Where are you? You don't recognize this place at all. With twitching muscles, you sit up in bed. Who tucked you into this bed?

It's hard to hear, see, feel, or do anything. There seems to be a haze thrown over your consciousness. You try to even your breathing. Over your hyperventilating, you can hear the sound of people nearby. Whoever brought you here likely brought you to a residence. The lush bedding underneath you attests to that fact. Actually, now tha some of the mud water in your brain had evaporated, you get clearer vision. It still sounds like you're underwater. Is someone playing music? The notes are muffled and tinny. You almost feel congested. 

You feel your panic mounting. Someone is throwing a party, and you're tucked into their bed. Please, let this be a guest room. You look down at your hands and fruitlessly try to kick the covers off. There's no metal or rough sensation around your limbs. Whoever did this didn't bind you? There's no error that you can see. This room is immaculate. You slowly turn your hands over on your lap. No marks. They didn't even tie you up for the trip. Did they cuff you? Hit you over the head? You must be in the house of some dangerous individual with ill intent!

Who did this? Why? If only you could muster up the strength to climb out of this bed. What are the chances you're not on the first floor? 

You don't notice the new presence until the candles flicker from a change in airflow. You slowly turn your head towards the (now open) door. The music has stopped. Even their approaching steps had been barred from your awareness. You'd panicked too much. 

The world stops. Your focus lasers in on the face- no, skull- of the being before you. It's a single-minded and blissfully silent focus. Then, recognition slaps you in the face. 

(You know this skeleton)

"I see you have awoken."

You can't speak. If you do, there's no way you won't be loudly hyperventilating or screaming. Your eyes sting, and you realize you've been staring. You force yourself to blink. 

The skeleton (an actual LIVING skeleton!) shuts the door and paces inside. They set themselves down on a chair near the unlit fireplace. It's too narrow for you to climb, with or without functional senses. Both of you make unwavering eye contact for several moments. 

The skeleton (his name echoes in your head, but you do not acknowledge it) crosses their legs. You watch them observe you with piercing eye lights. They prop their cheekbone on a gloved hand. 

"I am King Papyrus, and you are not from here."

You open your mouth to speak, vocal cords strained. "Where am I?"

The King (Papyrus, it's papyrus) chuchkles. It's not a friendly sound. 

"That depends on your level of cooperation. This can be your hell if you make it so." 

"You used the machine," you say. It's not a question. You shakily pinch your wrist. Nope, this is reality. Papyrus leans forward with a calculating look. 

"Tell me what you know. Now." It's a demand. If this is indeed who you know it to be, then there's only one choice. 

"You're Papyrus, this is the underground, and I'm presuming your brother, Sans, is around here somewhere. I'm working under the assumption that this is a timeline where Asgore is dead, and you've taken the throne. This is an alternate universe of the version of your world I'm familiar with, a video game in my reality." 

You hear a snort and look to the door. Sans is there, dressed in an outfit that you best can call 'lazy advisor.' He's silently watching you with a look on his face you can't read. It's like he's tearing your psyche apart. Is that from him being the judge or just judge-y? 

"Shit," you hiss, dragging your hands down your face. "Of all the fucking universes. Couldn't have been Underswap. Damn it all, how many souls do you guys need?" 

Sans snorts, "what tha fuck are ya talkin' bout?" You deadpan. 

"This is the underground, isn't it? What am I, the last soul you need so you can escape and take revenge on the surface? Second to last? Semantics." Your head is a lot clearer now, and you can feel all of your limbs fully. They're a touch sore. 

"You know a great deal about the underground," Papyrus (the motherfucking king) says. You shrug. 

"In my universe, this entire place is a fascinating bit of fiction. An alternate universe created by a fan of a video game about a determined soul in the underground. Nuff said, yeah? When does my judgment start?" 

The brothers glanced at each other for a tense moment. "We do not need any souls, save for one. The human child, Frisk, has escaped and promised to return in seven years. Until then, we fix society." Right, because if they try to raise hell on earth, then the humans will pulverize monster kind, again. No barrier this time. 

You whistle. "Hot damn. Really?" Papyrus gives you a scolding look. "Alright, alright, I believe you. There's no way you would've gone to all this trouble if I was your get-out-of-jail-free card. What the hell is my soul color anyways?" You look to Sans. He looks back at you as if you're insane. 

"Purple," Sans says. He walks further in and shuts the door, leaning against it. "Fucked around with the machine, and it dragged your ass out. How cooperative are ya feeling?" You laugh. It might sound a little deranged. Everything feels like a fever dream right now. 

"Of course the machine did, what a cliche. Quite cooperative, a bit excited even. Who woulda thunk it! Did the kid do a pacifist run this time?" The brothers frown at you, but you're on a roll. If this is a dream with some serious realism, then you're gonna enjoy trolling everyone. 

"What the fuck." Sans says. You shake yourself loose of the bed fabrics and get up. Stretching your joints, you slowly stand to not set the brothers off. You offer a handshake to Sans. 

"___ the human, nice ta meetcha, Sans the skeleton." He looks to his brother for permission. Papyrus rolls his eye lights. 

"The human is no threat. Proceed." Sans shakes your hand, and you frown a little. 

"No hand buzzer or whoopee cushion?" 

"Oldest trick in the book," Sans finishes. You nod and take back your hand. Papyrus taps his foot impatiently. 

"Am I supposed to bow or what? Monarchies have no power where I'm from." Sans snorts and pockets his hands. 

"Bow this once, refrain from doing it again in private. The amount of times I receive a bow in my home is ridiculous." You laugh. There's the dorkiness you knew existed. You walk up to the king and give him a bow. 

"Cool digs," you compliment. "What the hell do you guys want me to do?"

The rest of your time in the palace is weird but interesting. The king doesn't give much of a shit about what you do, as long as you do it without killing anyone or undermining his authority. Sans claims he can't get the machine to work. It's such a cliche that you believe him. In a matter of weeks, you get yourself a nice guest room and some budding friendships. The canine unit, in particular, warm up to you, tied with Sans. You're someone that isn't his brother that knows about all the timeline fuckery and doesn't give a shit about what he's done. 

The king gives you some bullshit title and a badge of protection. "Ambassador of Human-Monster relations." What a trip. Most people call you Ambassador, but Sans says it with mocking humor. In reply, you dig in his ribs with your elbow, usually. 

Eventually, you get tired of just hanging around the castle and its many rooms. You want to travel into the underground and see the sights. Sans takes you as well as two of the canine unit for protection. You cry (silently) when you see Waterfall. There's no way Sans doesn't notice, but he says nothing. 

A week and a half later, Sans brings you to Snowdin. 

"Holy shit," you say. "Grillby's! Oh, and the inn! Did you guys keep the puzzles? I bet your old house is super dusty now." 

Sans chuckles. "One thing atta time. Wanna grab a burg?" You accept and admire the sights. 

"I thought there were more monsters here. Did they move to the capital or something?" 

"Nah," Sans says, "low population from EXP hunting."

"Oh." You feel dumb for not putting two and two together. Sans bumps your shoulder with his. You smile at him appreciatively. He's cheering you up in his own way.

"It is what it is, c'mon." You follow him into Grillby's. The canine unit is already inside and playing poker. They're betting with dog treats. 

"Heya Grillbz," Sans greets the fireman. He's purple and dressed like a club owner. Yep, that checks out. You can tell when he notices you based on the stiffness in his shoulders. It evens out when he sees the badge on your chest. Grillby leans over his bar, elbows propped on the surface. His shirt is loose enough that you can see down it. 

"Ambassador, huh? To what do I owe the pleasure?" That's certainly a flirty tone. Sans shoves Grillby by the shoulder and sits down at the bar. You think Grillby is having a breakdown based on how hard he's laughing. "Can't take a joke, Sans? It's not every day you see such a delectable soul." You can't tell if he means that in a flirty or dangerous way. It's best to assume both. You take his words with a grain of salt anyways. Grillby is just fucking around to rile Sans up for shits and giggles, probably. 

"Not in the mood fer jokes. Fuck off. Two burg meals. To go." You sit down next to Sans with a frown. What's gotten into him? The last he used an aggressive tone was when some monster from the capital insulted him. Grillby swaggers away, presumably to make your food. You nudge Sans' foot with your own. He looks over at your concerned gaze. 

"Damnit, buddy. Don't gimmie that look." You don't give in. 

"Are you okay?" you whisper, quiet enough for only him to hear. He looks away and shrugs. 

"Do ya get so concerned fer everyone? How many monsters have seen that face a yers?" What? 

"I don't understand," you say. Sans fists the collar of your shirt, but it doesn't worry you. He won't hurt you. The grip on your collar jerks you closer to him, almost lifting you out of your seat. You steady yourself on the ground with your feet. "Sans?"

He growls in your ear. "I wanna be the only one that gets ta see that look. Yer so damn honest." You don't think you are all that honest, but compared to the Monsters, you guess so. This sounds oddly close to a confession. 

"Sans, what are you saying?" you ask. The anger bleeds from his expression, leaving only irritation and something nervous. Sweat beads on his skull. Sans jerks you forward by your shirt and coat. You land in his seat. Embarrassed, you try to untangle yourself. 

"Stay," he says. The word is tender when he whispers it in your ear. His free arm circles around your waist in a possessive grip, but the hand in your shirt smoothes the fabric out. 

There are a whistle and a whoop from behind you. When you turn, Dogaressa is giving you an approving look. Greater dog wags his tail. You can feel your face heat, and with no other outlet, you bury your face in your hands. There's a vibration underneath you, and you realize Sans is growling at the dogs. Calmed down, you move your hands. 

Grillby struts back with two plates and sets them down. If he's noticed the new arrangement, he ignores it in favor of sending you a saucy wink. Sans growls and presses you closer. You relent and allow him to press your head against the fur of his coat. 

"Sans," you whisper. He looks down, and you grab onto his shirt sleeve. "Relax. We're good. You're good." He grumbles but relents. Satisfied, you lean back up and try to move off his lap. His arm grips tighter, and he gives you an annoyed look.

"Fuck are ya doin'?"

"Getting up to eat?" 

Sans huffs and slides your plate over to rest next to his. "Solved. Sit yer ass down." You give him a deadpan look. He grumbles and whispers a "please," in your ear. Satisfied, you sit back down. You eat in relative silence. Sans doesn't have any mustard, but you don't ask. Partially done with your plate, you can't resist asking anymore. 

"So," you start, "what's the deal with my new chair?" Sans huffs and pops a fry in his gullet.

"Dunno whatcha mean. My knees too boney fer ya?" You snort. 

"No, but I must be crushing your femurs. I'm so telling your bro, by the way." 

Sans groans. "He'll never let me live it down. Have mercy, Ambassador." You elbow him in the ribs gently. 

"That's 'Oh gracious Ambassador' to you, Advisor." He snickers and you return to eating. 

Whatever the fuck is going on with Sans, you'll figure it out. Papyrus is gonna flip his shit, knowing his brother. Unfortunately for Sans, you've got a hunch. 

Wait till he finds out you reciprocate.


End file.
